


it's no big deal

by sepiapages



Series: scribbles [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Comfort, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Suicide, and brains are shit, but like..... life is hard, i'm sorry Signe, or at least attempts at comfort, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiapages/pseuds/sepiapages
Summary: something's really wrong with Signe.





	it's no big deal

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Signe stumbled and tripped over her own feet and fell against the wall. She let out a laugh, loose and high. Too loose. Too high. Everything spun and her chest felt tight, but all she could do was laugh.

“Whoa, you okay?” Sean reached out for her a second too late and his fingers closed around open air. She leaned on the wall for support, her whole body weight against it as if her legs wouldn’t be enough. “Signe.” He took a step closer and rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to catch her eye. “Signe, are you okay?”

She laughed again. “Wha- yeah! Of course!” She brushed him off and attempted to stand up straight. She wobbled. “Just a little dizzy. I dunno.” Another laugh bubbled over her lips. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Sean’s brows furrowed. “Wait- what? Do you need to sit down? I can get the popcorn.”

Signe stiffened. “No, no! I’m fine!” She pushed herself off the wall and charged into the kitchen with stiff limbs.

Sean hurried after her. “Uh… are you…?” He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t even know what question to ask. She’d seemed fine all day; a little distracted, but he guessed she hadn’t gotten much sleep. He’d woken up a few times during the night to find her side of the bed empty, but the bathroom light was on once, and later the light from the television screen shone through the hall, so he chalked it up to restlessness. The thought to ask her about it hadn’t come up as he jumped straight into his recording session early in the morning, and then spent the rest of the day in leisure with the Danish artist. He figured a movie night would be good for them both. Still, she was his girlfriend. He loved her. They _lived_ together. He kicked himself for not checking in sooner.

“Here, here, I’ve got it.” Signe fumbled around the cabinets and found a bowl to put the popcorn in. She dragged out the popper and dug through the pantry for the popcorn bags. She tried three times to plug in the popper, twice her hands too shaky to get it in. Pouring the popcorn could have been shaky as well, but it was hard to tell.

Sean came up behind her and laid his hand over hers when she finished pouring the bag. “Signe, wait.” He gently pulled her hands away from the machine and turned her around. Her green eyes blinked rapidly and darted around the room, barely skipping over his own.

“What?” she asked. It sounded sharp, but her voice was quiet. It trembled, as did she.

His frown deepened. “How do you feel?” He found her hands and squeezed them. She was small, normally, but something was wrong. “Are you… are you feeling okay? Seriously.”

Signe swallowed and shrugged, staring at the wall behind him. “I-I just have a headache, or- or something. Just a headache.”

Sean lifted her hands up to his mouth and gently kissed each knuckle. (Something was definitely off. She was frail. Thin. Skeletal.) “Signe, please look at me.”

She wouldn’t. Frantic pupils glanced over his face and the house around him, but never lingering.

Something squeezed in his heart.

“Have you been- ?”

She suddenly pulled away from his embrace and turned back to the popper, pressing the start button. It began humming. “How much do you want?” she asked, as if the moment had never happened.

Sean’s mouth hung open with the premature question still on his tongue. “I…” His mind raced to figure out how to phrase it. “I don’t… What do you need?”

For the first time, Signe looked over her shoulder and saw him. “What? I’m not- I’m not hungry. I’ll just give you half the bag.”

_Not hungry? Oh, god…_

Sean could only stand rigid as Signe finished the popcorn and didn’t speak another word. Her hands were so unsteady, it took her two tries to press the buttons on the popper.

His thoughts spun while his mouth ran dry and he let her lead him back to the couch and start the movie. He could hardly focus on the previews as they rolled by and the popcorn sat untouched in his lap. Something was _wrong._ Damn if he knew how to begin, though. He was the happy one, the friend to go to for a pick-me-up, a funny joke. He could make you smile, but he knew nothing of spirals like this.

She was depressed, he knew this. How had he not noticed the spiral before now?

He finally cleared his throat. “Si-Signe?” he tried. The fingers in her lap tightened ever so slightly. He tried again. “Signe, can we talk?” Her fingers curled into fists and her face crumpled. She squeezed her eyes shut and he doubted she’d ever been watching the television either.

“What is there to talk about?”

His chest tightened. Her voice was so hesitant, he felt like if he breathed too strongly, she’d shatter. _God, please don’t let her be afraid of me._ He reached for the remote to pause the movie, only to realize it had already gotten to the menu screen. Instead, he turned off the TV and turned on the couch to face her.

He took a deep breath. She stared ahead, still but for her fists clenching and unclenching. “Signe… Did you… did you eat this morning?”

“I wasn’t really hungry.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“Haven’t really been hungry today.”

“We haven’t had dinner- Signe, have you been eating _at all?”_

His voice pitched in desperation and she _still wouldn’t look at him._ However, she did stiffen at his whine and shifted in her seat.

“Of course I’ve been eating. I’m just… not hungry today.”

A knot welled up in his throat. He reached out and grasped her hand, pulling her to face him. _“Please._ Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s _wrong._ You haven’t been eating. I’m- I’m so sorry I didn’t notice, but _please_ stop this. Talk to me.”

She sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I’m _fine,”_ she hissed, her teeth almost ripping at her lip with the words. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” Now tears were making their way down his cheeks as he looked at her and she looked through him. “Signe, _please._ Let me help you. Just _talk to me.”_

His voice cracked and his breath stuttered with a restrained sob. He didn’t want to fall apart in front of her, not when she needed him to be strong, but he couldn’t help it. The weakness seemed to get to her, though, and she continued to shift uncomfortably until her legs were practically tangled and her fingers were in knots.

She pulled her hands away from his. “Stop worrying about me. Just focus on your videos, for god’s sake. Do _something_ other than think about me. I’m _fine._ I can handle myself.”

“No! You’re m-mentally ill, and s-something’s obviously _wrong!”_ He was definitely crying now. He angrily wiped away his tears and stared her down. At least he remembered something. “This isn’t fine, but it’s valid! Whatever you’re feeling- !”

 _“No!”_ she cried, and he was beyond grateful to have her finally facing him, even if it was a glare. “So, my self-esteem’s low. So what? Everybody hates themselves! I’m not anything special!” She hiccuped and Sean saw tears begin to fall down her reddened face, still with a sickeningly pale undertone.

He reached for her hands again and gripped them tight. He stared her down. “So what? So this: you’re ill! You have _depression_ and you hating yourself is not ‘normal!’ I know I say ‘Fuck normal’ all the time, but this isn’t healthy!” He swallowed another sob and forged forward. “You need to eat. You need to cry. You need to _talk._ I can't not think about you, goddammit, _I love you!”_

He broke down and his chest heaved with sobs while Signe shook in his grip and stared dead ahead.

When she spoke again, it was quiet. “I’m not… I’m not anything. I’m just… me.” She sighed and wiggled a hand out of his to wipe away more tears. Her gaze dropped to her lap. “Why should it be a big deal if I don’t think I’m great? Modesty is attractive, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want me to be a goddamn narcissist, would you?” She groaned and took a deep breath. “There are people out there who starve themselves. They’re in danger. They’re a big deal. Other people try to kill themselves with a blade, or a noose, or a bullet.” An airy laugh tripped out of her mouth as she raised her hand to her head and mimicked a gun, jerking her head to the side as she pulled the trigger. She dropped her hand again and fell silent for a few more moments. Then, defeatedly, “I don’t know. I thought… I thought if I were actually in pain, then there’d be a real reason for me to be so useless. ‘Of course you’re tired, you haven’t slept!’ ‘Of course you’re weak, you haven’t eaten!’ Those make _sense._ So, I didn’t want to eat. So fucking what? It’s no big deal. I’m no big deal. It’s just stupid to think I can keep leeching off people, off _you,_ just because I don’t like myself. Screw that. If that really mattered, I’d be dead right now.”

She fell back against the couch and looked at the floor. Sean nudged his way up beside her and pulled her into his arms. She was crying again, and he let her soak his shirt.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “I don’t… I’m not an expert on this, but I love you. I love you so fucking much it’s not funny.” He pressed a kiss gently to her cheek. “You don’t need to be hurting physically to justify your mental pain. I promise, you’re gonna be okay.”

“But what if I’m not?” she whined. “What if you come home and find me in the bathtub with the curtain drawn and a bullet in my head? What if I’m not good enough for me?”

Sean broke. He absolutely shattered, but he held himself together by hugging her tighter. “I won’t let that happen. You’re good enough for me. I promise. Please stay with me.”

She sagged against him and didn’t reply. She gripped his shirt and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Maybe if she pressed hard enough, she’d disappear. Maybe she’d somehow find his heart and feel what it was like to think she was worth something, anything. For now, she gulped in uneven breaths and cried herself out against the helpless Irishman. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
